


Show Me The Way To Sandy Shores

by trevorlyhills



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M, and gay things happen, lots of cussing, ye be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevorlyhills/pseuds/trevorlyhills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While forced to live with Trevor in his trailer, Michael comes to the conclusion that maybe he missed his best friend a little more than he allowed himself to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me The Way To Sandy Shores

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at the GTA Kink Meme on live journal:
> 
> "michael manages to resist falling back into old patterns with trevor. at least, right up until he has to move into that disgusting trailer with him. sleeping in a bed together after all these years makes it hard for them to keep their hands off each other, and the doesn't help that michael might be a teeny, tiny bit jealous of ms. madrazo...
> 
> in short, nine years of missing each other and several weeks of vicious tension come to a head and they have loud, rough sex during which michael stakes his claim.
> 
> \--submitted by anonymous"
> 
> Enjoy~

The rain fell in droves across the dirt streets of Sandy Shores, drenching the small town and causing large, muddy puddles to form in the dips of the road. The arid climate had been replaced by a bit of humidity, but the midday heat still permeated the layer of clouds that blocked out the sun’s rays, casting a bluish-gray haze through the windows of Trevor’s trailer, nothing else but the TV offering lambency, its sound muted by the whir of the fan beside it and the tapping of rain on the metal roof.

Michael stood within the dank kitchen of the little shack, his dusty dress shoes making a sticky noise and resisting movement whenever he shifted on the linoleum, which no amount of cleaning could fix. His hand fisted around a lukewarm beer bottle, he leaned against the grimy counter and stared dully off in the direction of the TV. Mrs. Madrazo was napping on the couch. Michael was somewhat jealous of her ability to do so, and not just because the couch was infinitely more comfortable than the bed of broken springs and cigarettes that Trevor had elected he and Michael to share. Sleep had always been something Michael struggled to achieve, but since he’d been forced out here, he found it nearly impossible.

The pictures in brochures and on billboards had lied. Sandy Shores was no sprawling oasis of beautiful, mountainous landscape and the Alamo Sea was no shimmering expanse of blue that glittered like gold from the sun’s reflection. For nine years, he'd seen the advertisements encouraging citizens of Los Santos to take a tour of their state’s incredible Grand Senora Desert. Several times, Michael had thought about packing up the family and taking a day trip, just to see what the fuss was about. But they had never found the time, and as the years passed, the kids grew older and he’d grown even more distant than he had been for most of their childhood. Not to mention, the ever-detiororating relationship he had with his wife put any good-natured, family-fun trips out of the question.

Even so, Michael had still found himself in the middle of the Grand Senora Desert, only to discover that there was nothing grand about it. It was hot, dry, full of serial killers and meth heads, not least of all the one he was currently living with. It smelled of rotting things, and he was almost certain that the Alamo Sea was harboring some sort of toxic waste that would turn him into a radioactive fish monster if he jumped in. He was miles and miles away from the city, away from any sane person, and away from probably the only guy in the world who might still give a small shit if he was eaten alive out here (Franklin, of course; the only guy who might have given a shit before was now the one Michael had to worry about being eaten by.) 

The isolation might have appealed to Michael at some degree, a form of escapism, a way to distance himself from a world where everyone seemed hellbent on knowing everyone else’s business. But out here, there was no way of escaping that escapism. It was complete and total isolation, physically, mentally, culturally…hygienically. 

And then there was Trevor, who was always a threat. Trevor, who had shown up on his doorstep smelling like piss, with blood under his finger nails, and walked back into his life, after almost ten years, looking a bit worse for wear, a bit more rough around the edges than where Michael had left him, but unmistakably Trevor. And Michael had been torn between running forth to embrace the man, running forth to strangle the life out of him before the psycho could do it to him first, or simply running away. It was a conflict of emotions that had not left him since that moment.

In the weeks since, Michael had observed Trevor with the same sort of reserve one might have for a wild and rare animal, for what better way was there to describe the maniac? He had changed, that much was certain, and yet he had stayed the same. He was still the unconventional, psychotic best friend from Michael’s memory. But there was a broken look in his eyes beneath the hard exterior of his scowling face that gave Michael pause, just long enough for him to feel the stirrings of guilt in his chest. And now, thanks to his companion's latest stunt, the two of them plus the kidnapped wife of a mob boss were shoved into the small living space of Trevor’s trailer from now until the foreseeable future. So it was with no wonder that Michael wasn’t getting any sleep.  

Suddenly, a narrow sliver of light flooded into the dim room from behind him, lasting only a moment before it disappeared. Michael turned to find Trevor shutting the front door behind him, rain water dripping from his soaking wet body, with his white t-shirt showing through to his skin and what was left of his hair matted to his head. Michael couldn’t see his face for the lack of light inside the trailer, but he could tell by the silhouette of Trevor’s hunched shoulders and the way in which he walked towards the fridge that the man was in a bad mood. 

A grin tugged at the edge of Michael's mouth, amusement slowly spreading on his face as he turned around, leaning his back against the counter now as he faced his friend, who immediately pulled a beer out for himself as well. “Where the hell have you been?” Michael asked, his tone doing little to hide his mirth. The other man scowled as he drew closer.

“Well, unlike you, Mikey,” Trevor began, using the edge of the counter to pop the lid off the bottle.  "I have a very demanding business to run, a business which requires my undivided attention day in and day out. Unfortunately we cannot all afford the luxury of being lazy, sellout old fucks who idle around smoking cigarettes and watching TV on our asses all day.”

Michael huffed a laugh. “Okay, T. Whatever you say.” He said before returning to his previous position, facing the TV while a compatible silence settled over them, and Michael couldn’t help but revel in the moment, one of the rare few in which they weren’t trying to rip each others throats out.

At first, being stuck here with Trevor had seemed like hell on earth, living shoulder to shoulder with him, having to see that face and its broken look, having to hear the complaints and insults about his character day after day. Their bickering had increased tenfold. They had fought loudly and consistently from sun up to sun down and at night, they had laid there throwing insults back and forth to one another in whispers that gradually grew louder until Patricia heard them from the other room and often had to shush them several times before they finally fell asleep hating each other.

But recently, it seemed their energy for petty quarreling was beginning to die away. They had started living together in grudging coexistence, arguing occasionally as they always had, but mostly sitting in peaceful silences like this one, with the rare, good-natured conversation passing between them. And Michael began to see at least a semblance of what they had been before Ludendorff. Before Brad, before the kids, even before Amanda. Back when they’d just been kids, high on their youth and high on each other… 

They hadn’t spoken of the past beyond what had gone down in Ludendorff. Either those memories were too precious or too painful, better left alone in the dusty attics of their recollection where they could be kept safe, unable to damage them or be damaged by them. But sometimes…

Sometimes Michael would catch Trevor’s gaze from across the room, and the sharp look in those brown eyes would cause his chest to tighten. Sometimes, in the cramped space of the trailer, they would brush against each other on accident, or on purpose, a line that was growing blurrier every day. And sometimes, Michael would wake up in the morning to find Trevor pressed against him in the bed they shared. All of these instances had been working together over the past several weeks, lighting a fire in the pit of Michael’s stomach, and causing a familiar heat to burn there. He knew Trevor felt it to, the telltale twitch of his lips into that knowing grin giving Michael more of a look into his best friends crazed inner thoughts than he probably wanted to see.

Sighing, he finished off the bottle of beer and chanced a quick peek at the man beside him. But Trevor wasn’t looking in his direction at all. Rather, Michael followed his eyes to find them resting on the prone form of Mrs. Madrazo. Curled up on the couch in her pinkish purple sweatsuit, the strangely maternal, weirdly unaffected by the dangerous turn of events her life had taken, Mexican mob leader’s wife had recently become the current object of Trevor’s quirky form of affection. Even now, his friend had the same stupid smirk on his face as he always did when she was around. It was sickening to watch the two of them together. Sickening how he pined for her, how he seemed to crave even the smallest ounces of attention or admiration from her. Sickening…and completely enraging. Because, Michael remembered, there was once a time when the same man acted that way towards him.

“T….” 

“What?” The Canadian snapped out of his thoughts, and returned his gaze to Michael.

“You know that ain’t gunna work out…right?” Michael began reluctantly. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about this before. This crazy, weird, and vomit-inducing high school romance the odd couple had going on wasn’t going to end well for any of them, and the sooner Trevor finally got that through his thick skull, the better.

But Trevor’s eyes only darkened as his glare returned with full force, burning right into Michael. “I don’t see why not.” He said, setting his now-empty beer bottle down on the counter and walking off towards the bedroom. Michael sighed, hesitating, watching through the doorway as the Canadian flicked on a lamp and then stood before the wardrobe, removing his wet t-shirt to reveal the collection of tattooed and scarred skin beneath.

“Maybe because she’s married? To a man who’d really like to kill us.” He spoke again, making his way into the room as well.

“I don’t care who she’s married to. She doesn’t love him.”

"That’s beside the fucking point!” Michael snapped, though careful to keep his voice low, shutting the door behind him for fear of waking the woman in the next room. “I wanna go home, Trevor. I can’t do that when a mob boss wants to mount my head on his wall!"

“What do you wanna go home to, Mikey, huh? A big, empty mansion? A wife and kids that couldn't give less of a shit about you, even if they  _were_  there? Well go ahead, enjoy your sad fucking life. Hell, you’d be better off if that crazy Mexican did catch up to you before you got back."

“Yea, well you’re life ain’t any less sad than mine.”

“Hmm, wrong again, my friend. I’ve got a way better life than you. Because unlike you, I haven’t been wasting away in the city of shit heads for the last ten years. Unlike you, I haven’t lost every shred of the human decency I had a short supply of in the first place. I actually still have a heart,  _and_  someone to share it with.”

“Really? Because the way I see it, all you’ve got is proof that the only way you can get someone to actually want to be with you is if you fucking force them into it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck  _you_."

"No, fuck you, Michael. You know what I think?” Trevor said, closing the few steps between them rapidly. "Huh?"

“What?” He answered, trying to sound disinterested, but it was difficult to school his emotions when Trevor was stalking toward him like that.

"I think…” Trevor said, leaning forward. Water was still dripping from his face, and his bare chest left a wet spot on Michael’s tank top where they bumped briefly together. “You're jealous."

Michael huffed a laugh, scoffing nervously. “Yea, you got me. I’m jealous of your little high school crush on a 60-year-old housewife."

"She's 57, and you've always been jealous, Michael. You're the most jealous fucker I know.”

Michael’s mouth hung open, gaping like a fish as he tried and struggled and failed to find more words in his defense. Perhaps at times he did tend to get a little bit possessive, but he would never openly admit that to Trevor. There was so reason for him to, let alone no point in feeling possession over something that was no longer his. But the feeling was still there, that hot queasy feeling bubbling in his chest whenever he saw them together that he’d originally written of as just disgust and complete confusion, but now he had to realize it could only be jealousy burning a hole in his gut.

“You’re full of shit.” He finally said, knowing Trevor saw right through him.

“Yea…” Trevor drawled, looking smug. “Doesn't feel so good on that end, does it?” he said, pulling once again at the strings in Michael’s heart that were attached to remorse. He was talking about Amanda, Michael knew it by the tone of his voice.

“Look, T…”

“Look, T... Look, T.” Trevor mocked, "Don’t tell me to fucking look. Because I can see you just fine, Michael. And I know like hell that you see me.” For once, the man lowered his voice, his tone now serious and yet nothing shy of suggestive at the same time. "So what’s the hold up?”

“Trevor, that…” Michael sighed, struggling with his words once again, leaving him to wonder how Trevor could draw deep and elaborate conversations from him one moments and reduce him to a stuttering pile of nothingness in the next. “Those days are over.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re so repressed. What the hell happened to you? The sun shrivel up your boy beyond use, or did Amanda finally cut it off? This ain’t the Michael Townley I knew back in North Yankton."

“Yea well I ain’t the same guy I was back then. Things change. People change, and you need to get the fucking fantasy that tells you otherwise out of your damn head.” He said, feeling his anger rising by the second.

“I’ll say.” Trevor returned. His words were a little above a whisper now as he somehow got even closer, his wet torso now pushing against Michael’s instead of just brushing it. His sharp, brown eyes were fixed on Michael’s lips. "The guy I knew back then wouldn’t think twice about the chance to get balls deep in me.” 

The brash crudeness of his words made Michael cringe, while arousing him at the same time. It had been a really fucking long time since he’d slept with someone who he didn’t have to pay beforehand. And here Trevor was, laying himself bare before Michael like some sort of peace offering, a quick escape to take him back to the time when all that existed in the world was themselves and a dirty motel bed.

 And it was all he needed.

Michael moved quickly, seizing Trevor’s head in his hands and smashing their lips together. Trevor’s eyes widened briefly in shock, his head knocking against the wardrobe from the force in which Michael had accosted him. But the other man quickly recovered, closing his eyes and pressing back against Michael’s lips with a groan, his tattooed hands coming to grasp Michael’s sides as he sank into the kiss. 

 The rain continued to beat down on the roof of the trailer, filling the room with nothing but the sound, combined with their heavy breaths, the wet noises their mouths would make as they moved them together, tongues sliding against once another. He tasted Trevor, a mix of beer and smoke and God only knew what else, but it turned him fucking on, and felt him too, felt him as he had before, the stubble on his face, his lean and solid form, his hardness pressing into Michael’s hip, his rough hands holding on tightly, touching him wherever he could, as if fearful that Michael would disappear the instant he broken contact. 

 Michael was severe in his movements, holding Trevor’s lips to his own without relent, beginning to move his hips, grinding himself against Trevor’s thigh, in turn causing Trevor’s own hardening cock to rub against him and earning a strangled moan from the man that was muffled by his own mouth. His hands began to move, sliding down from Trevor’s face, over his chest and down to the buckle of his belt. Unfastening it with skillful speed, he did not hesistate to reach in and take Trevor’s length in his palm. The other man let out a faint sound between a sigh and a whimper, his head falling almost limp to the Michael's shoulder when he drew his thumb over the leaking head of Trevor’s cock. The Canadian’s hands, which had fallen to linger at Michael’s waist now slipped beneath the fabric of his tank top, cool and wet against the feverish skin at Michael’s back, and he heard Trevor inhale deeply, taking in his scent. It was more sentimental than they needed to keep things, and Michael knew it would inevitably come back to haunt him later, but sentiment was something he’d been in short supply of for too long, and right now, the only thing that mattered was himself and Trevor.  _His_  Trevor.

 Eventually, Michael moved, allowing them to fall onto the bed, pressing Trevor against the mattress. His mouth moved lowered over Trevor’s neck, feeling his racing pulse, dragging his tongue along the skin there to taste a mix of rainwater and Trevor. The breathless man beneath him tugged at Michael’s tank top, causing it to bunch around his shoulders. Michael leaned up, sitting back on his knee’s to finally pull the dampened material over his head. Trevor followed suit, sitting now and running a hand up Michael’s stomach and chest, his eyes heavy lidded as his mouth descend on one of Michael’s nipples.

 “Oh, shit.” He sighed, running his fingers through Trevor’s thin hair as the other man continued his ministrations. 

 For a moment, he reveled in the exquisite feeling, looking down to watch as Trevor licked and sucked at him, paying careful attention to the places no one else ever had and it was why Michael loved him, why he would never stop wanting him, no matter how old they got, what happened between them, how much time passed since the last time they’d been together.

 But eventually and as always, Michael wanted more. He shoved Trevor back down onto the mattress and tugged at his jeans. “Off.” He breathed, his own hands going up to undo the belt of his suit pants. In a moment, they were both lying naked on the bed, Trevor reaching into the nightstand beside his bed and pulling out a half empty bottle of lube. Michael took it from him quickly, turning it over and slicking his fingers while Trevor rolled onto his stomach. With his free hand, Michael grabbed the pillow at his friend’s head and shoved it under his hips to give him better access. 

 He started with one finger, which didn’t take Trevor long to get used to. The second and third had him groaning and gripping the sheets with white knuckles and a pained expression, but Michael didn’t let up, just as he never had, pumping his fingers in and out until Trevor spoke up.

 “Jesus, M, just fuck me.” He said, his words a mix between an angry growl and a pained sigh.

 Michael didn’t need any more convincing. In an instant, he had his fingers removed, greasing himself up with the bottle of lube before tossing it to the side and lining his cock up with Trevor’s entrance. He pushed in slowly at first, feeling every bit the resistance he had the first time he and Trevor were together like this, more than twenty years ago. Beneath him, Trevor’s breathing was erratic, his eyes screwed shut and his teeth bared as he pressed the side of his face into the mattress.

 “Just relax, T.” Michael said, his tone apologetic. 

 “Shut the fuck up and go.” Trevor growled out. 

 Once again, Michael obeyed giving one abrupt thrust of his hips. Trevor grunted either in pain or surprise, but Michael was too wrapped up in the feeling to care. Beautiful was the only word he could ever think of to describe it, but he’d never been good with words. The way Trevor felt around him was just…right. Like nothing in the world would ever be bad again because no matter what, he would always have this feeling lodged in his memory. 

 Eventually he began to move, pumping his hips back and forth, establishing a rhythm. Beneath him, Trevor tried his best to keep from squirming, a look of pain and pleasure mixing on his face even as he spoke. “Come on, Townley.” He said impatiently. “I know you’ve got more in you than that.” 

 Michael squared his jaw, tightening his grip on Trevor’s hips and increasing the speed of his thrusts. Their skin slapped together, a rapid staccato that complimented the beating of the rain on the roof and the sound of Trevor’s quiet moans. Breathing hard, he felt himself slipping, losing control, groaning in pleasure as he lowered his head to rest between Trevor’s shoulders. The man’s expression now held more pleasure than pain.

 “M-Michael…-God.” He heard Trevor whisper, and suddenly Michael was accosted to get closer to the man, craving a feeling of unity, of being connected to another person, to Trevor, in more ways than one. Quickly, he pulled out just long enough to flip the other man onto his back before thrusting in again.

 “Oh, fuck…fuck!” Trevor said, clearly making no effort to hide his enthusiasm, and it only egged Michael on all the more. He increased his speed, shifting so that his chest was pressed against Trevor’s, and hitting a place that seemed to awaken something different within the other man. Trevor gasped, his arms tightening around Michael’s back, the side of his face pressing against Michael’s, his hot breath at his ear, fingers curling at his shoulders, short nails biting into his flesh. He could feel Trevor’s cock between them, hard and slick.

 “Ahh, Mikey, yes, yes, just like that! Oh, God--”

 “Mmm, T—“

 “—shit, shit, shit, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck me—”

 “—yeah, baby…”

 “—I’m gunna come, oh fuck, Michael, Michael, Mikey...“

 Trevor came first, hot and wet between their bellies, a slew of I love yous and Michael's name falling from his parted mouth, and it didn’t take long for Michael to follow, unable to hold back Trevor’s whispered name from his own lips as well as the repeated utterance of a single word —  _mine_  — into the other man's ear.

 For a few silent moments, they laid beside each other, coming down from their highs, regaining their breaths. Michael was the first to speak again.

"Shit.. That was good.” He groaned, a shallow laugh in his tone. "I think I pulled something.” For a moment, Trevor didn’t respond, his eyes staring up at the ceiling or somewhere far above it. Outside, it sounded as though the rain had stopped, its incessant rapping upon the roof growing faint. “Hey,” Michael said, nudging Trevor’s arm with his own when his silence became too eerie. “You alright?”

 Trevor finally broke his gaze with the ceiling and turned his head to look at Michael. A smug grin widened his mouth, giving Michael a sense of dread. “Never better, Mikey. I’m yours now, after all.” He said, the mocking quality of his tone almost affectionate in his own obnoxious way. 

Michael scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking away as Trevor chuckled infectiously, and Michael couldn’t help but smile anyway. When this was all said and done, maybe he’d start making an effort to pay a few more visits out to the desert.  


End file.
